Chapter Text
Dream’s fingers tense, gripping the edge of the shitty airline sink. He hates this. He hates planes, he hates flying. He hates having to do this every few months. He hates why they do it.
He’s terrified of going back out there, of seeing his siblings, of moving to London and chasing the Miraculous they’ve been searching for their entire lives. He’s terrified of what will happen if they succeed, and he’s terrified of what will happen if they don’t. He’s already seen enough people hurt- rarely killed, but it isn’t impossible for his brother’s anger to fly out of hand. He seems a little tamer here than he might be elsewhere, where violence and death fit much more in line with what’s acceptable.
The ring burns on his hand. The left middle finger, the same place that it’s been since the day he was given it.
He wonders often why he was chosen for destruction. One of the most powerful Miraculous in the world, alongside the Ladybug miraculous- why him? He isn’t the leader. He’s his brother’s lackey at best, does what he’s told, when he’s told. Why didn’t his brother- the leader - take it instead?
The answer, of course, is that he could never harness the power of destruction to reach his tendrils of manipulation out the right way. It always had to be the Butterfly Miraculous for that, and between the Cat, the Butterfly, and the Monkey, there’s little that anyone can do to stop them. Especially now that they have the luxury of utilising other Miraculous alongside their own, their collection and miracle box growing ever bigger.
He’s been staring at himself in the little mirror for too long. He finished pissing a solid three minutes ago, his face is red and the front of his hair is damp where he’d splashed himself with water. He doesn’t want to do this anymore.
He dries his hands on his pants and slips out of the bathroom, giving a wordless mumble of apology to the woman stood outside waiting. She huffs at him, and he makes his way back to his seat.
Drista is asleep when he arrives, conked out against the window wall with her head pillowed on her grass green hoodie. His brother, however, looks up as Dream approaches, green eyes cold as they land on him, expression unreasonable behind his face mask.
“You were gone a while.”
“Had to shit.” Dream lies easily. His brother regards him with the same impersonal indifference he always seems to, then turns back to his book as Dream sits down.
His brother. When they’re not working, and he wants to be a prick, Dream tends toward internally calling him Nightmare- he hates it. Like Dream’s own name, it was picked up in elementary school, when the dichotomy between the twins started to blossom so hard. Dream- friendly, cheerful, sunshine-bright Dream- gained his nickname second, technically. His brother’s came first, hurled as an insult and then as a descriptor and then as his nickname. From ‘You’re a nightmare,’ to ‘the nightmare’, to just 'Nightmare’ as his cruel nature began to thrive and bloom, from quiet to bully. So of course, Dream, being practically his opposite in personality and identical in appearance, got an opposite nickname to match. Dream liked his a lot better, for obvious reasons. Ash- his brother- did not, though it clung to him like a second skin as they grew older. Made him cool in middle school so he leaned into it. Mocked him in high school, by which point more people knew them as Dream and Nightmare than as Clay and Ash, so there was simply no shaking it.
Ash hates the nickname. He also hates his own name. But they’re in public, and Dream is not allowed to refer to him by work name when they’re in public. So it’s either Ash or Nightmare. And he knows which one pisses him off more.
“Please. Tell me all about your bathroom habits, Clay.” Ash says, voice monotonous, and Dream grins despite the wicked anxiety curling like nausea in his stomach.
“Well, you know how I get when I fly,” he says, leaving the when I get anxious unsaid, “Terrible cramps, and then it’s just liquid- ”
“I was not being serious.” Ash snaps, lifting from the book to glower at him, “And you know it.”
“I do!” Dream affirms gleefully, “That’s why I’m detailing it! You’re making us move to London, you have to hear about my airplane diarrhea.”
“Don’t test me.” Ash’s voice is serious in a threatening way, and Dream’s grin evaporates as he shivers. Ash is in a bad mood today, then, and Dream decides that it’s not worth the punishment he’ll receive to keep fucking this up.
“Whatever,” he says instead, “What’re you reading?”
Ash hums, turns back to the book,
“A historical study of Joan of Arc. A little embellished, it’s not entirely factual, but it’s interesting enough.”
Dream sinks into his seat. He knows exactly why Ash is reading up on Joan of Arc. She’s a suspected past holder of the Ladybug Miraculous.
“I’m gonna sleep.” He decides, “How long ‘til we land?”
Ash glances at his watch, the gold seems so dark against his skin, so heavy.
“Five hours.”
“Great.” Says Dream, and closes his eyes.
He doesn’t sleep, of course, and he thinks that Ash knows it.
They land in London five hours and twenty-two minutes later. Turbulence. Drista yawns hugely as they pull their handheld luggage down from the overhead rack, and Dream leans over to ruffle her hair. For all he resents Ash, he could never bring himself to resent her. Much unlike Ash, he loves her too much to risk earning her ire using her real name.
“Welcome back to the world,” he tells her as he hands off her bag. She sticks her tongue out as she pulls the strap over her shoulder.
“It was nicer when you weren’t there. Quieter, too.”
“Shut up.” Dream laughs, takes one of his two bags from Ash as it’s handed off.
“Both of you shut up.” Ash says, and does not laugh, “Maintain at least some air of respectability. We’re in a public place.”
“Yes sir,” Dream replies, only a little sarcastic, as he shoots Drista a wide-eyed warning look. A silent ‘He’s in a mood, don’t push it.’
“Okay.” she says, and blinks twice at Dream in acknowledgement.
The journey through and from the airport is uneventful. They move so often, this is second nature and the airports feel like the closest thing to a consistent home they ever really have.
They reach the house. It’s smaller than they usually go for, but it’s not like Dream is surprised. They’re not usually in big cities, never mind capitals, and whilst they have a fair amount of money from their inheritance, they’re not billionaires. Ash keeps them in the green through stock market bullshit- Dream doesn’t pay much attention- but that doesn’t mean they can afford a mansion.
Still, it’s a nice house, on a nice road. Drista groans as they pull in to the close.
“Why do we have to live in such a crowded area?” She laments, “Isn’t this, like, counterproductive?”
“There’s a basement.” Ash replies curtly, leaning over to the window of the cab to pay, “There aren’t a lot of areas in London with basements.”
“The houses are so close together,” Drista continues, but climbs out of the car to grab their luggage from the trunk. Dream follows her, shouldering his backpack and dragging his smaller suitcase out of the back of the cab, then reaching back in to snag Drista’s gym bag and her suitcase. He hears her squeak from the trunk of the car, and sets the suitcases aside to rush around and help her unload Ash’s giant fucking suitcase. It’s almost as tall as she is.
Ash slides out behind them, belting his trenchcoat roughly closed, and ignores them to make his way up the drive to the door with the keys jingling in his hand.
“Yeah, don’t help, no problem!” Dream calls after him, scooting the suitcase along to make room for the next one. Drista laughs a little under her breath. Ash ignores him.
Between Dream and Drista, they get the cab unloaded and all the cases moved out of the way, thanking the driver one last time before they step back to let him pull out, and Dream begins hauling them up the drive to the house, letting Drista watch the pile he leaves behind.
The house is… nice, if very empty, which makes reasonable sense. Ash isn’t in the hall, so Dream offloads his first case and goes back.
Eventually, they finish dragging all of the bags into the house, and they close the front door with a wavering breath. Drista leans against it, and Dream slumps into the doorframe leading to what he assumes to be the main room. There’s the tap of footsteps, shoes on laminate, and Ash trails through into the hall to eye them both.
“The beds will be delivered just after midday. Feel free to choose your rooms, there’s four of them. The master bedroom is mine, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Drista replies, and crouches to unlace her boots. Dream follows her example, and Ash paces off toward the stairs and around, ducking to work on the buckles of his own boots.
“Shoes and coats here,” he instructs, and Dream spies the edge of his own trenchcoat already hung up under the stairs. Drista finishes unlacing and taking off her boots before him, and he internally curses as she rushes to put them away and race upstairs. She’s going to get first dibs. Asshole.
“Why do we need a five bed house?” Dream asks, giving up on working his laces loose quickly and picking at the hard knot, “There’s only three of us.”
“Because purchasing a good house in an inconspicuous but connected area of London is surprisingly difficult.” Ash answers flatly, stepping aside so Dream can tuck his boots away in the cubby, “And we’re leasing this place, technically. We don’t own it outright, so try not to make too much of a mess.”
“Are we allowed to repaint?”
“Why would you bother?” Ash raises an eyebrow, “Either we win, and we rewrite the world, or the Ladybug holder flees and we chase them. I estimate we’ll be here three months at most, provided Chronobbit doesn’t interfere again.”
Dream frowns, and immediately smooths it out, grateful he’s turned away from Ash at the time.
“You nearly killed him last time.” He says, quieter than before, and Ash laughs. It’s humorless and cold, bitter and barking.
“You nearly killed him. And you should have. Your cowardice hasn’t been forgotten, make no mistake.”
“Karl was our friend, Ash! I-”
“We’re in the house now,” Ash snaps, eyes flashing, “You know my name.”
“X,” Dream says through gritted teeth, “I’m not ready to kill someone we used to care about just because he wants to stop us.”
“He’s stopped us before. Multiple times. If we have to kill him to win, then next time, you will turn him to dust. Am I understood?”
Dream wants to argue so badly. He doesn’t think he could kill Karl even if he was begging for it himself.
“I understand.” he lies, and follows Drista up the stairs.
They settle into their rooms. The beds are delivered and set up and Dream plops face down after plugging his phone in and breathes hot into his fresh new pillow. It’s a little scratchy, starchy, fresh out of the package. He thinks he’ll be too uncomfortable and worried to sleep, but he shouldn’t have fretted, because he lays still in his bed with the sun beginning to descend at about eight in the evening and the next thing he knows he’s groaning at the near midday sun streaming in through his window, the curtains still pinned too far back to even begin to offer him refuge.
“I’m hungry.” Something bumps into his cheek, and Dream groans, louder this time.
“You can go find the fridge.”
“X doesn’t have anything in, c’mon, get up. Go to the store. Get me some cheese.”
“Five more minutes, Plagg.” Dream turns over to bury his face in the pillow.
Really, it’s a miracle that Plagg has been this patient. Dream half expected him to be up on his case on the plane, or as soon as they got in the house, but he’s waited until Dream has at least rested. So when Plagg bumps the back of his head, Dream sighs, and decides he’s probably been patient enough.
“Alright, alright, I’m up. Can you check which case my clothes are in?”
Plagg disappears from behind his head as Dream sits up and yawns, stretching. He can hear distant traffic even through the window, and he feels gross, but it’s a new day and a new place. He’d like to get a look around London before they have to take the whole thing down, ideally. He’s always wanted to visit England.
“This one!” Plagg emerges from one of the bigger suitcases, and Dream hums as he pads over and unzips it, pulling it open and grabbing just the first shirt and pants to hand, then digging under it all for clean socks and underwear.
“I’m gonna shower real quick,” he tells Plagg, “Wait here, I’ll grab you before I leave.”
“Fiiiiine,” Plagg laments, “I’ll go bother Xuppu.”
“Don’t wake Drista if she’s still asleep,” Dream warns, throwing open a second case to grab his towel. Plagg huffs and doesn’t reply as he sinks into the wall and disappears.
Dream showers at mach speed and towels himself off aggressively. Showers are another thing he hates about a new house- figuring out how to get the water at the right temperature is a pain, and he always gets it down right before they leave. So he ends up taking a lukewarm-at-best shower and hopping out of the bathroom to his bedroom, still ruffling his hair, to pull his clothes on. Plagg and Xuppu are sat at the end of his bed when he enters, and he waves a hand at them,
“Turn around!”
“Rude,” Plagg says, but turns away, and Xuppu follows his lead. Dream dresses quickly, toweling his hair one more time when his shirt is on. He huffs,
“Alright, you’re good. Plagg, let’s go. Xuppu, do you want anything from the store?”
“Can I come?” Xuppu bounces up, and Dream smiles, poking gently at Xuppu’s belly,
“No.”
“Aw,” Xuppu zips around him as he turns, “Come on! Drista’s going to be asleep for ages.”
“You don’t know that, and no! What if she needs to transform whilst we’re out? I’ll pick you something up, though. What do you want?”
Xuppu folds his arms as he floats off to sit sulkily on Dream’s headboard.
“Bananas.”
“Yeah, that’s a given. How about banana candy? As well, not instead of.”
Xuppu perks up,
“Yes, please!”
“You got it.” Dream grabs his phone, and Plagg settles on his shoulder until he grabs his coat from downstairs, “Best head back through, Xuppu, I’ll send Plagg for you when we get back.”
Xuppu makes a plaintive noise, but does sink into the wall to return to Drista’s room, and Dream heads downstairs. He pulls his boots on, and he’s partway through lacing them when the ever-nervous Nooroo appears in his periphery. He startles, and Nooroo startles right back.
“Sorry,” Nooroo fumbles, “The master asked to see you if you plan on going out.”
“Got it, I’ll be through once I finish my laces.”
Nooroo nods at him and disappears back into the other room, and Dream finishes tying the neon green laces of his black boots, grabs his jacket from the coat hooks, and then slips into the main room.
Ash is sat at the back windowsill. The room is empty but for the built-in stuff, like the fireplace, and it looks lifeless. Dream knows all their furniture will likely be delivered today, probably part of why Ash is sat in a spot where he can see the drive but not be seen.
“Going out?” Ash asks, not taking his eyes off of his book.
“Cheese for Plagg, bananas for Xuppu. I don’t think I’ll be able to get hibiscus for you, Nooroo, sorry. Anything else I can grab you?”
Nooroo visibly deflates.
“Any floral edible should do. Do you know where the stores are?” Ash looks up from his book only briefly, and Dream shrugs.
“I was going to Google it. But if you’re not opposed, I could head into the city center. I might even be able to find dried hibiscus there.”
Ash hums, tapping the top of his book as he thinks, and Dream catches Nooroo’s eye to blink his hopeful message slowly at him. Nooroo blinks back, and tries not to look visibly excited.
“Fine. It’ll keep you out of my way, and you can scout out some good places to hide transformations. See what you can see and hear about the new Ladybug holder, the Dragon holder, and Chronobbit. They haven’t been seen around much, but enough to bring us here.”
“Got it. I’ll be home before six.”
“Text when you’re on your way.” Ash says, and Dream recognises it as a dismissal. He makes his way out into the street and takes a few seconds as he closes the door to inhale the spring air, the faint scent of the bright mauve rhododendrons from the bush at the edge of the tiny front lawn. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and flashes a smile to Plagg, tucked away in there. Thirty seconds and a Google search later, and he’s off on his way toward the subway station. He picks the one that’s a little further, only because he doesn’t have to cross an A-road to get to it, and it isn’t long before he’s sliding his card out and tapping the machine to pay for his open return ticket to the city center, to disembark at Tottenham Court. He considers Charing Cross, but figures he’ll find Soho more tolerable than the riverbanks.
Realistically, he just hits a name and hopes. He doesn’t know jack shit about London, and he’s just relying on his GPS to not get lost.
The subway is loud and crowded, and Dream has to stand up, but it still feels like freedom when he takes the stairs from the substation two at a time up into the streets of London and is hit by just the thickest roll of traffic fumes. It smells awful and it sticks in his throat but he’s alone and he feels free.
It won’t last long. But he plans on milking the next seven-ish hours for everything he possibly can.
He does make a point to look for hibiscus first, and eventually finds a store that sells ‘exotic’ treats. He pays entirely too much money for a small and very delicate box of dried hibiscus flowers, and tucks it into his backpack with care- Nooroo puts up with a lot of Ash’s bullshit, and most of the time he’s subjected to Turkish delight of all things. When they can, Dream and Drista like to bake lavender cookies, which he prefers, but they’re still not his favourite. Hibiscus is a little treat for him, and Dream intends to deliver. He also manages to get his hands on some hibiscus tea bags, which won’t work for helping Nooroo recharge after a transformation, but he’ll enjoy it regardless.
Once Dream has Nooroo’s hibiscus and has successfully slid Plagg some cheap- but appreciated- camembert, he starts just wandering. He figures he’ll pick up Xuppu’s bananas last, so they’re not subjected to the warmth of his bag for too long.
He’s wandering and he’s hungry, but not enough for a burger or something big. A drink would be nice, maybe a mocha? He passes a Starbucks with a little wrinkling of his nose, deciding his mood for today is carrying him toward a smaller café, not a chain store. Their mochas are bitter anyway.
He’s wandering and he’s wandering, it’s about one in the afternoon when he doesn’t realise he’s on the doorstep of the biggest shift of his entire life. He won’t realise just how significant this choice is for weeks, maybe months, as he finds the little corner café with all these pretty lilac and pale mauve bursts of flowers and trailing green leaves from hanging baskets. There’s three tables set up outside adorned with similar flowers, two of which are occupied, and the weather is warm and sweet and enticing him so he steps across the threshold, smiles down at the little plush doorstop shaped like a sheep, and lets his eyes adjust to the light difference.
It’s dimmer in here, warmer, the lights yellow and low but not dark, just cozy. There’s a glass display to his left, and indoor seating at the back, along with a few bar tables facing the windows overlooking the street.
The guy behind the counter is tall, Dream would say even taller than him, if only by an inch or so. He has a fluff of brown hair and round, gold glasses and a smile halfway between permanently cocky and sweetly inviting, a natural charisma that must lend well to working in a customer-facing job like this. He finishes handing a newly-warmed croissant off to an older lady in a pink coat, and then turns to beam at Dream as he steps up feeling awkward.
“What can I get for you?” The barista asks cheerfully, and Dream eyes the board behind him.
“Uh- do- can I get a mocha?”
“Mhm, sure thing! Sit in, or take away?”
“S- is there room?” Dream leans back to glance at the seating area. It seems busy, but not full, and there’s more tables around the bend he can’t see. The barista- Wilbur, by his name tag- leans back himself to peer through the window of the staff door.
“Plenty,” he affirms, “Sit in, then?”
“Please, yeah.”
“Great. Do you need anything else?”
Dream glances at the glass case full of various pastries and cakes.
“Do you have any recommendations for pastries or cakes?”
Wilbur seems to brighten impossibly and nods, takes a couple of steps to the side.
“If you like sugar, then this range of cupcakes,” Wilbur points to a tray full of cupcakes labelled red velvet, all with piles of sugary pastel-colored frosting and cute little embedded icing shapes.
“If you prefer things that are less sweet, we have a range. The cream cheese cinnamon bun is very sweet, but only in the icing. The apple turnovers are less sweet, it mostly comes from the apple. And if you want something not very sweet at all, there’s always the option of a good ol’ butter croissant!”
Dream studies his options.
“Which is easiest for you?”
“Honestly? The turnover or a cupcake.”
“A turnover would be great, please.”
“You got it. That’ll be… six eighty-three, take a number stand and put it at the edge of your table, and it’ll be brought to you when it’s ready.”
Dream taps his card to the machine and waits for it to display a little APPROVED before he thanks Wilbur and scoots around the corner to eye the tables and pick a free one. He spots one in a back corner that looks perfect, and he’s curling around a table when his wandering eyes comb the people and he freezes dead- stock still wide-eyed in this random café in the middle of London. Green meets near-gold warm brown, and he looks just as shocked as Dream is, ice cascading through his veins and his breath shallow in his chest.
A few long seconds of silence but for the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.
“K-Karl?” His name sounds foreign on Dream’s tongue, like he hasn’t said it for years.
“Dream?” Karl replies, sounding just as shell-shocked, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I- I- We just moved-” He stops, stumbles and trails. He still hasn’t moved. The guy sat across from Karl at their table snaps his fingers vaguely by Karl’s face, chin propped on his other palm.
“Still here, Karl. Who’s this? Hi,” The last tossed to Dream with a bright smile. He’s the pretty sort, dark hair and pale skin, mismatched eyes with the left being rich brown and the right a bright, almost unnatural blue. He looks so friendly. He looks so clueless.
“I’m sorry,” Dream takes a step back, “I- I had no idea you’d be here.”
“No idea?” Karl says, a little angry, reaching blindly out to curl his fingers around the hand his friend has held out toward him. The guy squeaks at the sudden pressure, and Karl’s knuckles are white.
“I mean- not here. Not in this café. Not- this is a big city.” Dream swallows. Karl turns to his friend with concern and cold anger biting the back of his tongue.
“Sorry, George, I’m not… ignoring you. Dream is…”
“An ex.” Dream completes for him, always better at lying than Karl ever was, “We- we broke up when we moved away. I never got to apologise.”
“An ex? I didn’t realise you were- bi?”
“Bi, yeah,” Karl replies, but it sounds a little bitter as he turns back to Dream with his eyes flashing.
Fuck, he looks like a mess. The shadows under his eyes are purple and blue and his hair is bordering unkempt. He’s wearing a regular fucking t-shirt and a heather gray hoodie, and he pulls it off but it isn’t Karl. Dream knows Karl.
“Well, you’re here now… Dream, was it?” George looks over to him and crosses the hand not being pulverised by Karl over to offer out to Dream, “I’m George.”
“H-hi.” Dream shakes, because he has no fucking clue how to handle this.
“Take a seat, Dream.” George says, and Karl opens his mouth to protest but George shushes him. “Part of this is absolutely that I wanna know more, but also- you’ve been sad as hell, Karl. At least give the guy a chance to talk it out.”
“There’s no talking out what he did.” Karl says bitterly, but lets Dream pull a seat over and sit. Dream pulls the little triangle sign from his hand and sets it on the edge of their table, in full view of the staff door.
“I didn’t want to, Karl,” Dream says, half-desperate, “You know I didn’t want to leave.”
There’s layers on that. Implications and lies under implications and lies.
“You nearly killed me.” Karl responds, just as cold, “You- you were seconds away from killing me, and then you just left. And it wasn’t even the first time you left! What about the first time?”
“I never wanted that either.” It’s what he’d been talking about to begin with. The almost killing him thing is an incidental side effect of leaving. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him otherwise. You know what Ash is like. You know what he’d do if he didn’t get his way.”
“All too well.” Karl grabs for his drink with both hands, then quickly switches it to one and extends the other across the table to make a grabby hand at George.
“Hold.” he says into the rim, and swigs. George tucks his fingers into Karl’s palm and Dream sits awkward like the worst third wheel in the world as George catches Karl’s eye over the table and gives him such a soft look that it makes nausea boil in Dream’s throat. Nobody has ever loved him like that, so gently and with such understanding. Nobody ever will. He doesn’t deserve it.
Karl visibly softens, and Dream takes that opportunity to push past the lump in his throat,
“I’m sorry. I’m- I’m so sorry, Karl, and I know you’ll never believe that I’m sorry, but I never wanted to hurt you. Never want to hurt you.” He layers the emphasis on that tense, fighting the burn of tears because he knows he will hurt Karl. He does not have a choice.
Karl sets his drink down and extends his hand. Dream knows what he wants. He sets his hand, his left hand, in Karl’s palm and watches him thumb over the ring he knows Karl can never take.
“I loved you so much.” Karl says, and it’s quiet and raw and true. Dream has never heard him say those words before and he stares. “I would’ve shattered reality for you.”
When he looks up again, meets Dream’s eyes, it’s just the two of them in the middle of a lavender and mint void, swirling with stars and clouds and the ticking of a distant clock. Dream wants to say you already did. He wants to say I never wanted that. Wants to say I never wanted this.
Instead he says,
“I haven’t had anyone since you.” Just as raw, just as quiet, just as true, “Nobody I love. No friends. Nobody there, nobody here. I’ve been alone. Does that make you happy?”
“You know it fucking doesn’t.” Karl pulls his hand back like he’s been burnt, and stands up, “Sorry, George- I- I can’t.” and then quieter, leaned over, whispered so that Dream is meant to ignore it, “Don’t… leave him alone.”
“Okay,” George says, and he sounds upset, but there’s more worry than sadness in his eyes, “Be safe.”
“I’ll text you. Check your phone.” Karl leans further to kiss George’s cheek, and then straightens up, grabs his coat, and brushes past Dream. His fingers trail Dream’s shoulder, skin cold against his neck, and then he’s gone. He hears a concerned,
“Karl, you good?” From Wilbur, but doesn’t hear a response. He’s just gone, an autumn breeze in winter. Dream stares at the table.
There’s a few long seconds of silence. George’s phone buzzes, and Dream lifts his head to the other man checking it. He hums, then turns the screen off, puts it face down and looks up to Dream.
There’s something soft in his eyes, like pity but not quite. It doesn’t look like pity, but it makes the bottom drop out of Dream’s stomach in a way he’s not sure if he likes.
“I’ll switch tables,” Dream goes to grab his sign, and George’s hand finds it first. It clamps down on top, and he shakes his head.
“Just ‘cause Karl can’t stand you doesn’t mean he wants you to be alone, and you look interesting enough. Shift into his seat, you’re finishing brunch with me.”
A smile ticks at the edge of Dream’s mouth.
“Brunch? It’s after one pm.”
“Brunch,” George says, firmer, “C’mon.”
“Okay,” Dream says, because it’s been so long since he had company and the idea of being alone with his thoughts after that is horrifying. He scoots out of his chair and into Karl’s abandoned one right as the staff door pushes open and a guy with ash-blond hair shoulders through holding a mug in one hand, and a plate with an apple turnover in the other. He takes a second to catch sight of Dream’s number, and smiles as he comes padding over to set the plate and mug down.
“Hey, Punz,” George greets him, “How’s your shift?”
“Boring,” Punz replies cheerily, picking the sign up, “Where’s Karl?”
“Emergency absence,” George says breezily. Punz’s smile flickers into concern,
“He okay?”
George’s phone buzzes with perfect dramatic timing.
“He’s fine,” George assures, picking his phone up and scanning the text preview, “Just had to rush.”
“Mm. Send him my good vibes. Hi, nice to meet you,” Punz offers a hand out to Dream, who shakes automatically, “I’m Punz.”
“Punz,” Dream repeats, and his tone must trigger some amusement in Punz because he laughs. It’s a nice sound, Dream thinks, bright and warm. It makes him smile.
“It’s a nickname,” Punz explains, “Lot of us met online, the names stick. Who’re you?”
“Dream,” he says, “I didn’t get mine online, but it’s functionally the same principle.”
“See, George, you should have picked a cooler name. Right, I’ve gotta get back before Wilbur eats my ass.”
“He does what? ” Dream says as George replies,
“You should let him, he’s very good at it.”
Punz turns a very fun shade of pink and says nothing else as he disappears back into the staff room. Dream turns his wide eyes to George, and takes a few seconds to figure out if he’s serious. George’s eyes are on his phone and he looks completely unperturbed. Dream can’t figure him out.
He watches George rapid text with one thumb, and then click the screen off to put the phone down again, pulling his eyes up to meet Dream’s flustered face to which he grins sharply.
“What?”
“We’re in a public place.”
“And Will is good at what he does. Well, since you know that fun detail now, you can’t shake us. One of us. One of us. Give me your phone number.”
Dream’s brain takes a few seconds to catch up with him. George picks his phone up one-handed, and Dream watches the other rub lightly over the black studs he’s wearing like he’s stimming- Dream recognises absent occupation of touch. The pad of George’s thumb catches on the ridge of the stud and he repeats that a few times like the feeling is grounding. His eyes are on Dream.
“What?” Dream says intelligently, and George snorts a laugh. Dream thinks he falls in love.
“Your number, idiot. You know, so I can text you?”
“I’m really not great at staying in contact,” Dream says dubiously, and George swings his phone around to hand to him,
“That’s fine, I’m plenty annoying.”
Dream takes his phone.
“What about Karl?”
George shrugs.
“He asked me to watch out for you. I know the guy, I know he cares about you, just can’t face you. So I won’t hang out with you both at the same time until you’re both okay with it.”
Dream taps his number into George’s phone, saves himself as Dream :) and hands it back. George beams, and Dream melts inside. It’s been so long since someone was just… nice to him.
“I really am sorry,” Dream says, quiet, “I never meant to hurt him. I couldn’t ever hurt him.”
Flashes of the terror in Karl’s bright gold eyes cross his mind, the smear of bubbling darkness around Dream’s own clawed hand just inches from Chronobbit’s chest. He didn’t beg for his life. He was scared, but it looked like he’d just accepted it.
Dream couldn’t do it then. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to.
George pokes his hand where it's curled around his mug.
“Don’t dwell on it, don’t apologise to him when he’s not here. I’m here, and I wanna know more about you! Where are you from? What’s your favourite color?”
Dream exhales, but he smiles. George’s brightness is infectious, and they fall into an easy conversation.
George learns that Dream grew up in Florida, that his parents died when he and his brother were fourteen, and that their inheritance is what kept them out of the system- they could literally pay one of their staff to ‘adopt’ them until they were old enough to live without a guardian. At sixteen, Dream’s brother decided they would travel the world- school could be online- and so he dragged Dream and his then-nine-year-old sister off and away, because money will pay for anything.
Dream learns that George is London born and raised, though a different part of London to where he lives now, more on the outskirts. He has a cat, and a roommate named Sapnap - Nick, but like Punz, the online nickname stuck. He’s thoroughly normal, just a guy, and he’s friendly and funny and every time he laughs, Dream smiles.
The time falls away, they order more food, new drinks. Punz and Wilbur sit with them on their breaks, and Dream learns things about them, too.
Punz is in uni studying fine art. He’s an avid gamer and lives in a sixth floor apartment with a roommate he rarely sees, and he kind of really wants to own bees one day. Can’t do that in an apartment, but he so badly wants an apiary. He rambles for a solid five minutes about bees and their care, the structure of hives both physically and in hierarchy, and Dream listens thoroughly enraptured. George seems to have heard it before, but his smile is genuine as Punz’s excitement ratchets up.
Wilbur is a musician, but the pretentious kind that’s all music is for the art, not for the money, and that’s totally why I work this job because I don’t want to do music for money. He’s a guitarist, he prefers bass, and he can play the keyboard but can’t play the keyboard and sing at the same time. Therefore, guitarist. (Bassist.) (Would-be bassist, if bass’ weren’t so fucking expensive.)
Dream learns they’ve been friends with Karl for about six months. He mentlly notes that, yeah, that about lines up with the attempted murder.
Karl moved in with their friend, Quackity, as an emergency roommate listing on Craigslist of all things, and they were very pleasantly surprised to find that he was not a murderer, but a really sweet, friendly guy that really liked their personal space.
This feels so strange, so foreign. Dream avoids people, avoids friends, anyone nice to him he avoids again because he’s just going to move, why would he learn to love people he’s just going to leave? Plus, Ash is so tight on his control, Dream so rarely gets the ability to leave… without scrutiny. Realistically, Dream knows that Ash wouldn’t give a fuck if he went out and fucked around, provided he came back when he was called. But Dream has been using Ash’s temper as an excuse for being alone for so long, he doesn’t think he could stop.
Time slips through his fingers, and the next time he registers looking at his phone, it’s four thirty-seven and he hops to his feet,
“Oh, shit,” he says, startling Punz and George, “I’m meant to be back by six, and I have to take the sub- I should go, I’m going to get lost.”
“What line?” George asks, and Dream blanks.
“Uh… I don’t know. I got off at Tottenham Court.”
“Central or Northern!” Wilbur calls from the register, “Punz, get back on here.”
“I still have ten minutes on my break!”
“You’re been taking breaks all day, come cover me so I can help Dream!”
Punz grumbles good-naturedly and stands, shuffling over to pass Wilbur into the register area. Wilbur takes his seat,
“Do you remember any other stops?” Wilbur asks, and Dream hums,
“Uh… Charing Cross? Golders Green?”
“Northern!” Wilbur says cheerfully, then “Oh, you haven’t even gotten that far. This is a ten minute walk, fifteen at most. George, you can take him, right?”
“Uh-” George looks for a second like he’s going to argue, but glances over at a nervous-looking Dream, and just nods,
“Absolutely I can. C’mon, let’s get you to your station,” George stands, grabbing his coat. It’s a neat thing, teal and brown with what looks like a detachable hood, and Dream grabs his own abandoned green fleece to stand and join him.
“Now we’ve been nice to you, you’re going to be a repeat customer, right, Dream?” Wilbur gives him a winning smile, and Dream thinks it’s dangerously sharp. But he likes it. He likes them.
“When I can get out, absolutely.” It’s a promise, and genuine, even if he doesn’t know how often he will be able to get out. Wilbur pats his shoulder, and Punz shouts a farewell over the counter as Dream and George spill into the street. George shivers in the breeze, pulls his coat tighter around him, and turns up a street gesturing for Dream to follow.
“How long’ve you been here?” George asks as Dream trails his heels up the street, “You said you just moved, but how just is just?”
“Oh, uh- got in yesterday, actually. Wait- shit- I need to buy bananas.”
“You’re in luck, there’s a fruit store on the next street.” George rounds a corner, and Dream follows the gesture he makes to a greengrocer’s with a brightly colored display of various fruits. Dream buys his bananas, carefully rearranges his bag to put them in without crushing the hibiscus. When he looks back up, George has one hand on his earrings again, but his eyes on Dream.
“Good?” He asks, and Dream nods mutely. George smiles, gestures, and they head off.
It feels like too soon that George is standing at the top stairs to the subway station across from Dream, waving an arm at the dark void,
“And here we are. Not far at all. Come back to Puffy’s Place sometime, or Wilbur will hunt you down and gut you like a fish.”
Dream snorts a laugh, but tucks the name of the café away carefully in the back of his brain.
“I will, next time I’m allowed out.”
“Great! And text me!”
“I will.” Dream promises, and then just before he heads out he remembers what X told him to ask about- “Oh, before I go! My brother is kind of, uh, a supernatural history nerd. He caught wind that there’s been some kind of new… superheroes? Sighted in London. Never caught their names or anything, but there’s either two or three of them. He asked me to ask around?”
“Oh, huh,” George seems genuinely surprised, the pad of his thumb brushing once again over the ridge of his black stud earring, “Superheroes? Sounds a bit much.”
“Personally, I think it’s just a bunch of stage magic and people in costumes,” Dream shakes his head, “But generally, respect the ‘hero’ thing, y’know? It’s good to do good, even if you’re in a silly little leotard about it.”
“The leotards are pretty stupid,” George agrees, “But yeah, sorry, I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“Eh,” Dream shrugs, “Lemme know if you meet anyone that has, Ash is always on my ass about it. It was nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too. I’ll see you soon?”
“See you soon,” Dream agrees, with something sweet and warm filling his chest like hot air, vanilla-cherry scented and saccharine sweet escaping his lungs. He descends into the subway station with George waving him goodbye, and he can taste sugar on his tongue as he takes a seat swaying with the train along the rails.
He thinks about what he said about heroes, about doing good, and not for the first time, he wonders if all the evil and death that he has doled out in his years will eventually be made even by the true good of restoring the world as it was.
Not for the first time, he wonders if X has lied to him. He wonders about the first world, the world they were born in, the one X wants to restore. He’s been told it was where he and X were truly together, where they were building one big happy family. He’s been told tales of the lost city that’ll never be, he’s been told of L’Manberg and the festivals there, adorned with lanterns and laughter and diplomacy. Elections he never remembers.
X wants all of that back, wants their family back. He says that Karl ripped it all out of their hands, that Karl was cruel and selfish, and Dream has questioned it before but it’s coming up again like bile in his throat. Dream wants to think he knows Karl. All that Karl has ever done is be bright and sweet, and when he was forced to turn against them, it was to protect just regular people who had never done anything wrong. All he’s done as a hero is fight to prevent collateral damage that X doesn’t care about his family making. They raze buildings without wondering who’s in them, they take what they want and they push and they shove and they bully and they leave. They meet Karl again in the street and he begs them to give up and they never do. He took X’s world away, and he will fall to X getting it back.
X tells him that what they are doing is good. Dream has never believed it, but he’s never sat on a subway and thought about it so hard he almost misses his stop, so he stumbles out onto the platform of Golder’s Green with his head spinning, all the thoughts in there become little images superimposing themselves onto his vision. In the stairs he sees the rubble of the village in Mexico, in the shadowed alley he passes across the road he sees Karl, bleeding and forlorn and lost. He sees bubbles of destruction, he turns a corner and the butterfly fluttering in front of his eyes makes him feel sick to his stomach with all the people they’ve corrupted to their side.
He turns up the drive to their house. Drista is stood on a set of stepladders in the front yard holding garden clippers, neatening up the massive rhododendron bush at the very corner. There’s a delivery van in the driveway, and the sound of Ash inside calling out instructions. Drista brightens when she sees Dream’s gold hair in the sunlight, waves the clippers,
“You’re back! You left before I woke up. Jerk.”
“Shut up,” he sticks his tongue out, “Inside’s a hellhole, then?”
“Yeah, you know Ash,” Drista returns to clipping, “Neurotic about feng shui or whatever he calls it. The new table has been moved- I counted- seventeen times before I left because I felt like I was being shaken around in a glass jar. Besides, nobody’s lived here for a month or so, so the rhododendrons need some attention. If you wanna help, the underbrush could do with trimming.”
“Might as well,” Dream shrugs, “Shears?”
Drista gestures to the grass below her, and Dream rounds to find a set of shears under the step ladders. He sets the backpack aside, in the shade, and gets to work hacking away at the overgrown weeds and twigs.
Fifteen minutes later, and the van is pulling out, Ash is leaning in the doorway with his face mask still pulled up. He hates to take the thing off, even in their house.
“When you’re done with the rhododendrons, come inside.” He says. What he means is you are done with the rhododendrons. Come inside.
Dream glances up at Drista, who nods at him, and she clambers down as he snags his backpack, the two of them heading into the house.
Once the door is closed, Plagg slides out of Dream’s pocket.
“You didn’t even buy me more camembert,” He throws at him accusingly, and Dream winces.
“Sorry. Sorry. Forgot.”
“Don’t worry, Plagg, the groceries will be arriving some time between eight and nine. I ordered camembert. Did you find anything in town, Dream?” Ash leads them through into the main room, to a sturdy wooden table in the back of the room. It looks more lived-in now, with a rug and two sofas, a TV they’ll never use, and a vase of fake flowers.
“I found some dried hibiscus for Nooroo,” Dream sets his bag on the table and pulls the little box out, slides it toward Ash, “I got some tea for you too, Nooroo.”
Nooroo appears from under Ash’s hair, crawling over his shoulder bright-eyed.
“Thank you.”
Dream fake salutes.
“What about me?” Xuppu flits into his vision, probably from the cabinet off to the side, “Did you get my bananas?”
“Did I get your bananas?” Dream scoffs, pulling the bunch out of his bag to plop onto the table, “And I got you these, too.”
He pulls a little plastic bag of soft banana foam sweets up, and hands it to Drista to open. Xuppu ooh’s and zips over to her to take one.
“I asked a couple of friendly enough people about weird superheroes cropping up, but they didn’t know anything,” He finishes, swinging the bag back onto his shoulder, “But they mentioned they’d let me know if they heard anything if they saw me again, so I have an in at one café at least.”
“Good enough for day one, I suppose.” Ash shrugs, thumbing the hibiscus box open so Nooroo can pull one out, “Did you find anywhere good for transforming?”
“There’s people everywhere, all of the time. I hear Charing Cross has some abandoned subway stations, but other than that, our best bet is going to be bathrooms.”
“Terrible,” Ash says with a sigh, “Drista, watch for anyone pulling in. Dream, with me.”
Drista huffs, but heads to sit in the front window with Xuppu cheerfully chewing through banana sweets on her shoulder. Nooroo glances up to Ash, who waves a hand.
“You can stay where you are.”
“Yes, master.” Nooroo settles back on the table. Ash gestures to Dream, and leads him up the stairs, both flights, to the master bedroom that takes up half of the attic floor of the house. He ducks beside a small cupboard low in the wall, pulls it open, and withdraws from within the carefully decorated leather box with brass clasps that makes Dream feel a little bit sick.
It’s not a proper miracle box. X isn’t a proper guardian. It’s just a box with little individual boxes storing each of the Miraculous they’ve stolen in their time, and Ash flicks the clasps open and begins routinely unpacking the boxes. Dream sees the Raven, the Eagle, the Dog, the Bee. Then Ash finds what he’s looking for and hums, lifting it out of the main box. Dream’s head swims. The Fox.
“Take this. Do not use it unless you need to, do not wear it until you use it. Don’t give it to Drista under any circumstances, I still don’t trust that she’ll be able to handle unifying multiple Miraculous.”
“But I can?”
“I just care less about you.” Ash says, flat. Dream’s heart sinks when he realises he believes it. He takes the box.
“Okay.” He says, and Ash rolls his eyes.
“Dismissed.”
Dream leaves the room as Ash starts putting the boxes away, heading into his own room and flumping onto the bed, dumping his backpack off the side. His phone hums in his pocket, and he sighs and waits a few seconds before he pulls it out.
George [19:46]
did you get home ok?
Dream smiles. After Ash, this little bit of understanding feels like ocean air.
Dream :) [19:47]
yeah, got home and my sister was gardening and my brother doing his thing inside, so got distracted. sorry for not texting you sooner.
George [19:47]
you should be
George [19:48]
im fucking around, you dont have to apologise :] thanks for letting me know you’re safe
Dream :) [19:50]
thanks for caring!
He cringes at the exclamation mark, but can’t figure out a way to make it sound genuine without it. Because he does really, genuinely appreciate that George cares, even a little bit.
“Groceries’re here!” Drista calls from downstairs, and he hears Ash answer,
“They’re early. On my way.” Before he’s off down the stairs. Dream doesn’t move.
“When they’re done, you can head down for cheese,” he tells Plagg, “I’m… gonna sleep, I think.”
“Y’sure?” Plagg hovers over his head, “You’ve slept a lot.”
“‘M’sure. I’m getting it in now, before X grinds us to the bone.”
“Fair enough.” Plagg shrugs, flits off to sit on the edge of the bedside table as Dream goes around changing into more sleep-appropriate clothes. He draws his curtains, looks at his bags and decides unpacking can wait for tomorrow as he climbs into bed, leans over to plug his phone in to charge.
He has a text.
George [19:53]
we should hang out some time when youre free, i think youd get along with sapnap tbh. hes loud and annoying, youll love him.
Dream :) [19:59]
if i can convince my brother to let me free from the shackles of responsibility, absolutely. its been years since i had friends
Dream :) [19:59]
i am gonna pass tf out now though, gn
George [20:02]
old man
George [20:02]
gn
Dream doesn’t read the last two texts, too busy melting into his pillows as Plagg disappears downstairs with the close of the front door. London might be the end of the journey and the end of the world, but so far, it’s looking like he might actually get to enjoy it before it all goes away. That thought comforts him into sleep,but does not manage to chase away all of the nightmares of Karl’s terrified face in that back alley in Mexico.
Chances are, nothing ever will.
He’ll live with the weight of his sins until he isn’t living anymore.